It looks rather like a coat of armor when you see it for the first time. It is really just a plastic mesh that is softened during what is called your “assimilation” appointment. They form it to your body at the radiation site.
If you have cancer in your head, they form a head mask! That is really much cooler than the torso I think. You could maybe do something with that mask like create some piece of art to hang on the wall. Mine looks like something worn by a super hero, or maybe a gladiator.
On the morning of my 28th and final radiation treatment the girls asked me if I wanted to take my mask with me or if they should throw it away. For some odd reason I felt like I needed to take the mask with me, like it were part of my journey. I couldn’t think of having it thrown in some random hospital trash bin. It was such a big part of my life for the past 28 treatments. So I brought it home in one of those hospital plastic bags that reads….”personal belongings”.
Each morning when I arrived for my treatment I would lay on the radiation table and place my hands above my head grabbing two metal handles. Under my knees, the kind and gentle radiation techs would place a wedge and then they would strap my feet together so they could not move. They would wrap me in a warm white blanket from the top of my legs down, then place the mask over my torso and turn my body ever so slightly with their cold hands until the makers that were tattooed on my stomach matched up to the markers on my mask. (They always apologized for their hands being cold!)
It felt as if I were completely restrained as they sipped the locks on my mask into the table. I thought to myself, if I gained more than a few pounds, they would have trouble getting this to lock, but of course that was not an issue these days. I could not move an inch.
The techs would exit the room asking me if I was OK. They would shoot an X-ray to be certain my organs were in the perfect position to receive radiation. Some days a slight correction would be required and they did this remotely. The table would move a touch until I was in target range.
Once I was in position, the radiation machine would orbit the table twice. There was no sound. A large sign the shape of an EXIT sign, reading “BEAM ON” filled the darkened room with a red glow. It reminded me of something from Star Trek….like “Beam me up Scotty” or something. But I am sure it is just a warning to anyone entering the room.
There was no pain at all. And the only physical effects were some “browning” of my skin and a little swelling and tenderness of the organs internally. While laying there I would tell Jesus thank you for another day of life and another step to my healing while I laid there for approximately 5 minutes listening to Pandora’s “French Cafe” by personal request. (The girls did say I was the only one with that channel choice.)
Then, after the treatment the lights would turn on and into the room they would march taking position on either side of the table releasing the mask and removing the blanket and strap. I was helped to my feet and escorted out of the room.
This day I left with my mask in hand. It was a bittersweet moment, leaving the girls who had helped me kick PC cancers butt. They hugged me and told me they wanted to run into me on the highway jogging, but certainly not back here again. I agreed.
So, my mask and I are still not sure of how we feel about each other. I cannot think of any creative way to make it into something useful, unless Tommy wears it as part of a Halloween costume. Maybe I am a hoarder at heart, but I just can’t throw it away.